


The Warlord

by Jaye_Norton



Category: Highlander: The Series, Original Work
Genre: Ancient History, Central Asian Steppes, Gen, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Originally Posted Elsewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Norton/pseuds/Jaye_Norton
Summary: The chronicles of the life of the warlord, Hsu Danmei.





	1. What Does Kill Us . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Central Asian Steppes in about 40CE, a young warrior called Hsu Danmei attempts to usurp his chieftain. It does not go quite as he planned.

Hands, balled into a tight fist, connected with the man's jaw with a satisfying crack, whipping his head to one side. Blood flew from his mouth, muffling a grunt of pain. Breathing heavily, the man spat on the ground. Broken teeth flew out alongside blood and spittle. His head hung down, hair covering his battered face. The pain of the last blow, and all the previous ones, had not begun to fade when his assailant rammed a foot into the man's stomach.

He bent forward, trying to protect himself, but he was restricted from doubling over by the two strongest men in the tribe firmly holding each of his arms outstretched. Again, before he could recover, his assailant grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his head roughly back. Their faces met, inches apart. One eye was swollen shut. The other, despite being half closed, glittered in icy defiance as he cursed up at the other face. 

The tribe's chieftain leaned closer. "I would make this a quick death. All I would ask is an oath of loyalty, but in your case Hsu Danmei, I know that would be futile. Instead, you shall show those that followed you, and any other man foolish enough to attempt murdering their lawful chief, the penalty they will pay." He looked down on his prisoner, awaiting any retort.

Blood still trickled down Hsu's chin and onto his chest. So swollen was his face, he doubted he could speak with any coherence. Not that he had anything he wished to say. Blood filled his mouth, mixing with pieces from his two broken teeth. Needing to spit it out, and not wanting to let it go to waste, he spat the contents onto his chieftain. The punishment was swift and harsh. Another ringing blow sent him hanging limply in the grip of his two captors. 

The chieftain pulled his head back again and waited for his one good eye to focus on him. "Slitting your throat is too good. Bring his horse!"

This order was directed to another man holding a wiry bay. As the horse was led forward, Hsu was pulled to his feet. His arms were drawn straight before him and bound tightly from his wrists to his elbows. The other end of the binding was fixed securely onto his horse's saddle. Two riders took position on either side of the bay, each taking hold of its reins. Other members of the tribe mounted, their chieftain included.

"Under his leadership this tribe is doomed!" Hsu managed to call out as loud as possible to any that could hear, knowing they would be his last words.

He was prepared for the tug when the two riders led his horse into a canter, but not the force of it. It felt like his arms would be pulled from their sockets, but he kept his footing and ran just as the first arrow landed by his feet, encouraging his haste. He stumbled twice, nearly falling, but somehow he managed to keep on his feet as the horse pulled him along. Arrows flew by, shot by the pursuing warriors.

Hsu grunted in pain. An arrow had struck his thigh. The wounded leg gave way, and despite his attempts to keep his balance on his other leg, he fell. 

The riders kicked their horses into a full gallop, preventing him from getting up. He bounced over the rough ground like a bundle of rags.

More arrows were loosed. This time many of them found their target, each bowman encouraged by his comrades or derided with hoots of laughter if he made a wild shot.

A league further on, they finally all pulled up. The chieftain dismounted and walked over to Hsu. He lay face up, cuts and bruises covering his already battered body. Arrows stuck out of him at every angle. Some of the shafts had broken off as he had been dragged over the ground, leaving the head imbedded inside. Despite this and his unconscious appearance, he still breathed, his chest rising and falling painfully and with hesitation.

The chieftain crouched at his side, turning Hsu's head to face him. He was barely recognizable.

"Don't die on me yet!" He nodded and someone cut the rope, freeing the horse. His voice was loud enough to carry to all present, but he looked at Hsu. "This is the fate of anyone who plots against me. When we track down your few supporters, they will die likewise, and their possessions and women, including yours Hsu, shall be sold to whoever wants them." He took the last arrow from his quiver and pressed the point against the skin. "You have been a thorn in my side since the day my father allowed you to join this tribe. No more!" He thrust the arrowhead deep into his heart, and Hsu Danmei died.


	2. . . . Makes Us Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after Hsu Danmei's death, a comrade comes to retrieve his body and his very surprised with what he finds.

It was night. A waxing moon shed an eerie pale light over the Steppes, silhouetting the sentry standing guard over Hsu's corpse. Wanting to leave it where it lay to rot, the chieftain also feared his supporters would attempt to reclaim the body for proper burial rites. So he had set a guard. He wasn't wrong in his concern.

A figure crept nearer, always making use of every shadow. About ten paces away, he dropped and seemed to wait for a sign. The wait wasn't long. Shouts came from the camp, drawing the sentry's attention there, and away from Hsu and the figure. He covered the remaining distance quickly from behind and, in a single movement, grabbed the man's head, exposing his throat to a sharp knife. The sentry had no chance to cry out before he died. The man headed straight for Hsu's body and knelt beside it. He frowned. He had not expected his leader's body to be so beaten. Only his size distinguished him. 

His hand found part of an arrow shaft, still sticky with blood. Grasping it, he pulled it free, and discarded it. He reached for another, sometimes having to push right through the body where there wasn't enough shaft left to grip onto. 

Hsu was a giant of a man, standing many inches higher than the next tallest in the tribe, and more than a foot taller than the small Chinese man recovering his body. With such a solid build, the man knew he'd never lift such a dead weight. He looked over to the chaos in the growing turmoil in the camp. A couple of fires now burned, the flames rising high into the night air. Shouts and cries of pain traveled over the distance, but no sign that his activities had been noticed. Assured, he turned to the woods and signaled. 

After a minute, another man emerged slowly, leading a horse. The Chinese man waited patiently as he took his time to carefully cover the ground. 

There was a gasp from behind him, and he waved to the approaching man to wait. The rescuer spun around, looking for the sentry. Perhaps he hadn't been as certain as he'd thought in killing him. But the man didn't move. The gasp was soon followed by a groan and the sound of movement. Not quite believing his ears, the man turned to where Hsu lay and watched the dead man sit up to look directly at him. 

"Xian?" 

The man nodded, uncertainly whispering a prayer to any god that might be present. "Is it really you, Hsu, and not a shade?" 

"Of course it is me," he snapped in reply, then extended an arm. "Feel how real I am." 

Xian placed a hand on his forearm. It was solid enough. He studied Hsu's face, confidently looking back at him, although he sensed an air of confusion and fear around the man. Bowing, he said, "Milord, how is this possible?" 

"I do not know. I was dead?" 

He nodded. "Look Milord, not only that but your wounds are almost healed." He pointed to a wound on the man's arm. Small bolts of light flickered over the rapidly healing skin. 

Hsu couldn't draw his own eyes away for several moments. When he did, he asked Xian. "What did you call me?" 

"Milord. The gods have clearly given you a great gift, and a sign that you are destined to be our chieftain. Of course, you are worthy of the title." 

Milord Hsu Danmei. He rolled it around in his mind for a moment. It felt good. He smiled briefly. Xian had been his closest confidant, friend even, since he'd arrived in the tribe thirteen years ago. Being several years younger, Hsu had gravitated to him, perhaps because they were both outsiders: Xian's Chinese birth and Hsu's childhood as a slave in another tribe. After the old chieftain's death, his son's policies drove them closer, and when Hsu could no longer live under such a regime, Xian had been the first to defect to him. 

"Come back to camp," said Hsu finally. "We have plans to make." 

Both men kept an eye to the direction of the village as they crept towards the other man, still waiting patiently for a signal. He fell to his knees when he saw Hsu, babbling in disbelief and thanks. Only when Hsu forcibly pulled him to his feet did he follow them away from the plain.


End file.
